


All For One

by corinnemaree



Category: Jurassic World (2015), Once Upon a Time (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Musketeers AU, multifandom - Freeform, this will probably be more clawen than anything thing else sorry not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinnemaree/pseuds/corinnemaree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Musketeers; Owen Grady, Killian Jones and Bellamy Blake. All follow wild adventures, chasing love and fighting battle and wars. Their fourth musketeer stuns them, but never lets them down. They are the greatest soldiers France had ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wasn't Thinking Of You Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multifandom fic and it's based off of [this au](http://dealingdreams.tumblr.com/tagged/musketeersau) from dealingdreams. hope this is enjoyable for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first multifandom fic and I'm pretty nervous tbh. I really hope whoever reads this likes this fic and enjoys whatever this mess is. I've tried very hard to make it as good as i can and I hope you continue reading. I'll hopefully post every 2-4 days, depending on my schedule, but I'll let you all know. Enjoy xx

There was a presence that was undeniable as the horses walked on the torn up path. Owen glanced around, Bellamy at his side with that disdainful look on his brow like he was ready to fight the world. It had been a year or so with Bellamy along, Killian their troops leader, but it felt so odd not having the captain there with them. Bellamy Blake, headstrong and brave, was a perfect addition to the already wise and reckless musketeers. They were a band of brothers that was fierce and unrelenting. That was, until Killian got himself arrested and sentenced to death. Quite unfortunate. 

Now, the presence that followed behind them was something that Owen had tried to ignore, but it was becoming ever more apparent that someone was following them. A small gallop of a horse every so often caught both Owen and Bellamy at a disadvantage. The person stopped but didn’t retreat. Owen and Bellamy both looked at each and agreed not to start a fight; fighting would waste time, which they were running short of. They continued through the path, finally reaching a point that was torn apart. 

This was the problem at hand; Killian was falsely accused of committing robbery and murder. The boys knew it wasn’t true, as they had been with Killian for days. It was now up to them to uncover this plot and figure out what was really going on. Owen glanced over his shoulder once more before jumping off of his horse. The man behind them jumped off as well, keeping his distance and restraining his horse’s reins to a nearby branch. Owen snapped his attention back to Bellamy, who was now wandering the broken up snowy path recklessly. 

Bellamy Blake was young, with shaggy brown hair who had the will of a thousand warriors. He was someone Owen could always rely on, but now, Bellamy seemed lost. Bellamy felt a strong loyalty to Killian, and to Owen, he knew that. But, Killian had Bellamy under his wing the moment he stepped into the garrison. This was Bellamy’s chance to repay the man that changed his life. Owen admired the young soldier, his braver unmatched amongst the garrison, yet he was always so kind and loving, it was hard to know he was the same person. The musketeer guard on Owen’s shoulder was loose, but it was something that he could put up with for the time being. Bellamy and Owen trudged up the incline before reaching a sight that had Owen buckling down to his knees; dead musketeers that he had fought with lying in the snow. 

Crows were picking at the corpses, making a feast out of their bodies. Owen mumbled incoherently, even to himself, as he signed the crossed. “They stripped musketeers of their uniforms and did this to them! Left them for the crows to feed!” Bellamy hollered, kicking at a nearby tree. 

“Keep your voice down, idiot.” Owen barked, standing and his uniform still lightly covered in snow from the ground. Bellamy huffed, walking to the bodies and huffing as he looked at fallen brothers in arms. Owen turned his attention down the road, seeing the man in clearer view. He was masked, watching from a distance and most likely hearing the conversation that was transpiring. 

“Look at this,” Bellamy called out to Owen, holding up a red guards’ coat, muddied and buried under snow.

“Some old friends were here.” Owen rolled his eyes, sighing and reluctantly took the coat from Bellamy’s hands. Blood was on the cuffs, but no gunshot holes in the material. This was a slaughter by the Cardinal’s Red Guards.

“I knew this had the red guard written all over it. I bet Cardinal Gold had something to do with it.” Bellamy bit back, kneeling down and looking how the men were murdered. The musket balls sitting nearby and with no follow through of the ball on some bodies, it was clear that the shots were done from afar. Shot them when they were riding to town. 

“Bellamy, I’m not the world, you can fight it later. For now, we have to figure out where that idiot Pike might be.” Owen remarked, remembering for a moment the last time he had seen the current Red Guard Captain. It didn’t end well, with Pike leaving with a broken nose and a sword pointed at Owen’s throat. Killian calmed down the situation, of course, but they would never be on good terms with the red guard.

“The castle. You know his loyal followers, they always stick close by.” Bellamy said, the castle close and they could reach it by nightfall. Owen and Bellamy rushed to their horses, mounting them quickly and galloping down the path.

Owen looked back quickly, noticing a missing figure that was once against the stark white snow. The presence wasn’t there anymore, faded back somewhere in the trees. Wherever the man went, it didn’t sit well with Owen or his nerves. 

 

*****

 

Coughing echoed around the old cells. Killian huffed, shaking off the priest as he tried to get Killian to confess his sins. All he could think of was Emma. Wife for years, yet he couldn’t save her. He loved her with everything he had, a strong woman who would rarely ever bend; especially not to him. All he had to do was save her, keep her from that rope for a few more hours, yet he was just too late for it all. There were days of drinking, the faded memory of her playing in his mind as each bottle reached its bottom. Yet, as the sun rose after all those drunken nights, she still smiled at him like she had their first night together in their bed. 

But he could never forget the way she felt against him, how their lips intertwined so perfectly it felt like a lifetime of pleasure taking over them. He remembered her blonde hair blazing brilliantly as his hands was fisted in it. He remembered her nails scraping down his back and the demanding cries of ecstasy. He remembered the good days, filled with love, the bad days filled with frustration and anger. Killian remembered it all. He would always remember Emma Swan, no matter how much he tried to forget her. 

Killian’s head fell back against the wall, his eyes closing as Emma’s smile comforted him, eyes tearing into his heart. Night was masking the light now, torches being lit along the corridors and Killian’s hands started to shake in the cold. The firing squad was preparing for his morning execution. And he was thinking about his love that was long dead. Killian would soon be joining her. He was almost willing. 

 

*****

 

They stayed quiet, nightfall coming in quickly and they watched the red guards fall into the courtyard, drinking and eating near a bonfire. Bellamy had been talking for a few hours, talking nonsense and going from one thing to another. “I’m just saying, you seem to get so many women, couldn’t you just -” Owen was barely paying attention until he saw something running across the castle’s perimeter wall. They stayed low and made bounding leaps to go unnoticed from the wall, to carts and onto the castle’s balcony to reach guards on duty.

“Shut up,” Owen snapped, bringing Bellamy in to him. 

Bellamy chuckled, leaning down next to him. “Owen, come on it’s just -” 

“The rooftop. They’re heading in.” Owen pointed and they both watched the figure leap and bound, taking out men silently along the balcony, until the figure finally threw a man from the side of the balcony and altering the entire courtyard. Charles Pike, the oldest man of the group suddenly ran, yelling at his men to fight as the figure came down from the balcony, avoiding the gunfire that was arising. “We have to wait, think strategically.” Owen remarked. He turned to Bellamy, seeing that old cocky smile on his lips.

“Or…” Bellamy muttered before charging into the fight. Owen stayed behind, watching as Bellamy threw his sword against another, fighting with the figure that was on the rooftops moments ago.

“He’s a musketeer. You can’t shoot a musketeer.” Owen remarked to himself before he shrugged. “Could make it seem like an accident but -” 

“Come on, old man!” Bellamy interrupted the thought and Owen rolled his eyes.

“I hate you, Bellamy.” Owen huffed before charging in behind his younger counterpart. Owen fired off the first round, landing a red guard straight in the chest. They fell back and Owen charged in. They fought for a few minutes before men surrendered or ran. Owen could feel blood on his face, his own or someone else's, it wasn’t certain. Owen cleaned his blade, only barely seeing the figure from before sneaking away from the scene.

Glancing around, there wasn’t much to look at, just a campfire and a bunch of rebellious red guardsmen lying in the cold winter’s dirt. Owen kicked around some weapons, not exactly sure what else to look for when everyone was dead and Pike was nowhere to be seen. Then, there was a sharp whistle that brought Owen’s attention up and to a cart that Bellamy stood beside. He held up musketeer uniforms, frowning as he got out different shoulder guards from men they had both fought with.

“O! Look, the stolen uniforms!” he called out, Owen started to walk slowly over to Bellamy and the young man was doing the same. They was walking aimlessly in the courtyard, still wondering how they could possibly save Killian. 

“Yeah, but where did Pike run off to?” Owen asked, and as they were just about to reach each other, there was a hardy groan and a yelp for terror falling to them. They looked to their side as a body fell into a hefty hay pile. They looked inside the hay, noticing that it was in fact Pike.

“Nice of him to drop by.” Bellamy smirked. Owen rolled his eyes, wandering towards him. He had a note stuck to his chest with a small dagger keeping it in place. Owen unravelled it, reading it aloud to Bellamy. It detailed how they took the musketeer uniforms as well as framing Killian, their plan to break apart the musketeers with one of the highest regarded members. It said it was a rogue mission that the cardinal had no play in, but both Owen and Bellamy rolled their eyes at that statement. 

“Full confession written out and pinned to his chest, a little suspicious.” Owen remarked, handing it over to Bellamy. The young musketeer moved to Pike, trying to see if there was anything else suspicious about him, hearing the awful grunt still coming from the man.

“Not dead, but there are stab wounds. Someone threw him off the roof.” Bellamy looked up and they both saw the man that was following them earlier in the day. Owen wasn’t going to let them get away again. Seeing an old wooden beam, Owen raced over to it, jumping up and hoisting himself up to chase after the man. “Owen! Wait! We have to get this to the king!” Bellamy yelled and Owen leaned over the balcony’s edge. 

“I’ll be straight back!” Owen called back and started after the man. He was fast, faster than Owen expected him to be. They were trying to avoid Owen as best they could, skipping over items and tossing them behind him as he ran. Owen jumped over the items, catching up enough until the man started to go up, climbing up the castle and making it to the roof. It wasn’t a great feat but it was still impressive to see it happen. Owen follow suit, catching up and seeing the man rushing over to the edge of the roof. Owen cocked the gun and the man stopped, raising his hands in the air. “Why are you here?” Owen asked. The man turned but didn’t say a word.  “Why were you following us today?” Owen questioned again, but could see the man’s eyes darting somewhere. Those eyes were familiar somehow but he wasn’t sure - “Hey! Stop!” Owen yelled as the man bounded to another spot on the roof, a break in brick work that the man could climb down and escape.

Pushing himself to the limits, Owen raced for the man, narrowly missing but he was close now. Owen pulled hard on the back of the man’s collar. Then, he grunted hard as he fell to the floor. Owen’s brow crinkled as the sound wasn’t what he expected. “Wait,” he started, the man stopping, but as Owen smirked, a realisation had already taken root. “Are you a woman?” he asked. The person’s foot drove upwards into Owen’s crotch and he toppled over. They rolled to the side to get advantage of Owen and they swung their elbow around his jaw, smacking harder than a punch. Owen reached up, grabbing at the scarf and pulling it down. When he saw her face, he was stunned. It couldn’t have been her; he had doubts she would remember him.

“Like you could fight any better.” she snapped, her blazing red hair finally falling from her hat, much longer than he remembered it being. How gorgeous she still was, with those blue eyes that caught him the first time. Lady Claire, an old companion to someone he used to know. It was her, but why her?

“Lady Claire?” he asked in stunned awe and she paused. It  _ was _ her. Claire’s eyes darted before she pulled at Owen’s collar, bringing him into her. 

“Forget you saw me!” she demanded, raising her foot up to his chest and kicking him hard to the ground, toppling over, far beyond what he thought she was capable of. He got to his knees, watching as she tugged on the scarf to cover her mouth once more, and racing off the rooftop like she wasn’t there in the first place. Owen would have followed, but the pitiful grunts of Bellamy failing to get onto the perch Owen was able to reach. Owen climbed down from the roof, making his way easily into the courtyard from the balcony once more. Jumping down, he met with Bellamy who remarked quickly on his cut lip and reddened eye. Owen shook it off.

“What are you doing? You raced ahead of me back there, did you find them?” Owen asked and Owen hitched up Pike from the hay. The man grunted in pain, and Owen hitched him up on his shoulder, walking towards the cart full of uniforms. 

“Yeah, but I know who she is.” Owen said quickly and Bellamy chuckled.

“She?” 

“Shut it,” Owen snapped and Bellamy stopped smiling. Tossing Pike into the back of the cart, Owen gave a sharp whistle for his horse. It galloped over, along with Bellamy’s. They strapped the horses to the cart and hitched themselves up onto each horse. “First, we get this information to the king.” Owen remarked. Charging the horses, they bound towards the King’s palace. 

 

*~*~*

 

They delivered Pike and the letter of confession to the king in the early hours of morning, Bellamy riding to the prison as quickly as he could. It was brought to Owen’s attention that the king was waking and that he had to wait for the formal word. He waited until he was told to go. Owen walked alone, his feathered hat on top of his head and formal uniform in place. His sword and pistol on his hips and the aqua blue shoulder cape on the opposite arm to his musketeer guard. His uniform was tired but not worn out, and he did always look his best for any member of the royal family. Owen was stopped and told to wait. Then, the king came into the room, dawned in his royal gowns that was a brilliant gold for the day. Owen took off his hat, bowing respectfully for his king. 

“King Finnegan,” a squire announced and a loud groan echoed around the palace.

“Oh, for the last time, Finn will do.” The king said, a cheerful smile on his lips. The early breaking of the day was coming in, so only a few more hours before Killian was set to die. Finn was young, much like Bellamy, but with longer hair and a paler complexion. Finn sighed before he was to resight a common phrase. “I hereby pardon Killian Jones of his crimes. I assume you’ve sent the young one off to stop the shooting.” Finn announced and Owen smiled generously.

“You know me too well, your majesty.” Owen remarked, rising as the the King spoke.

“Young one?” a feminine voice asked as it entered the room. Owen turned, bowing as he caught sight of the Queen. Queen Clarke had been married to the King for some years, and everyone who met her agreed that she was beautiful. She was fair in skin, blonde hair to match and glowing blue eyes that captivated everyone who saw her. Her dress that day matched that of the king’s formal wear; gold and elegant. It was a large dress, as they usually always were, with a tight corset on and her hair flowing down her shoulder on one side.

“Your Majesty,” Owen bowed to Queen Clarke, a small smile on her lips as she had done numerous times before with Owen. “Young Bellamy, you haven’t had the chance to meet him since he was only commissioned in the last month or so.” Owen explained and Clarke nodded briefly.

“What a shame. I would like to thank him personally for helping one of our favourite musketeers out of his wrongful charge.” she smiled before she laughed. She walked over to Owen, offering her hand to him and he kissed it as he had always done. “Tell Killian I am glad he’s safe and to stop getting himself into more trouble.” 

“Respectfully, Your Majesty, I can’t do that,” Owen said and Clarke became curious. “Killian always gets himself into trouble. But I will pass on the message.” he smirked and Clarke laughed. 

“It was a joy to see you again, Owen.” she giggled, letting her hands rest on the sides of his face. The king cleared his throat and Clarke stepped back. 

“Your Majesties, thank you for your time and consideration into this matter.” Owen bowed again before he walked out. Once out of clear view of the king and queen, Owen raced for his horse outside. Mounting it quickly, he charged to the prison and saw Bellamy waiting outside on his horse, his hands bound in another horse’s reins. 

“What are you doing out here?” Owen said as he slowed to a gallop. Stopping at Bellamy’s side, they both watched the prison’s doors.

“He should be coming out now.” Bellamy chimed and sure enough, Killian Jones sauntered out the door. He caught sight of Owen and Bellamy and rolled his eyes and shook his head, but there was an undeniable smile on his lips.

“Didn’t really think we would let you get shot, did you?” Owen called out as Killian came closer. He was still in his musketeer leathers, his musketeer shoulder emblem missing but he was still his normal self.

“I thought I could shake you two off, but you’d follow me to the grave.” Killian shook his head, looking worn out with his short dark brown hair a mess from his time and his stubble looking sharp as always. 

“Only to annoy you, Jones.” Bellamy smirked and Killian gave his always charming smirk in return. He chuckled along with Owen and Bellamy, and everything fit into place with them again. They rode slowly into town, a few cheers as Killian rode by. The boys teased him for that. 

They made it to the garrison as the markets started to bustle. When Owen rode in, he couldn’t help but let a blazing head of red hair draw his attention. He jumped off his horse, leaving it for other members of the garrison to take care of it.

“Oi, where are you going?” Killian yelled and Owen stumbled for an answer. 

“I think I saw a lady I knew.” he called out. 

“Don’t you know every lady?” Bellamy jabbed. 

“Only the pretty ones.” Owen lied and smiled back at his brothers in arms. Owen raced into the markets, finding the hair that caught his eye before and he chased it. Then, she stopped, fondling some fruit and barging a price. Owen walked up behind her, an arm behind his back as the other rested on the hilt of his sword. She wore a lovely dress, white with dark brown finishing in her corset and trimmings in her skirt. Her hair was pinned to stay out of her face, but flowed just her back in waves and curls.

“Hello, lady Claire. How many years has it been?” he whispered in her ear, but she didn’t jump when she heard his voice. Rather, he heard her give an irritated sigh. 

“Far too soon, if I remember correctly.” she jabbed, edging past him just a little before he started to walk beside her.

“Shall we talk in private?” he whispered and she turned to him, blocking his path. 

“If you really want to be robbed, I will gladly snatch your coin purse right now.” she smirked, her eyelashes flashing and setting Owen to bite his lip at her temptation. “Oh, wait, I already have,” Claire chimed, raising up his coin purse before she tucked it down her corset and continued down the street and into an alley. She was so quick, Owen could barely register what happened.

“Hey! Come back here!” he called out. He huffed, going down the alley, but as soon as he rounded the corner, he was tripped up. He stumbled, but felt the definite pull of his sword out of its sheath. When he rose up, he felt the light tap of his sword underneath his chin. Owen’s eyes found Claire, her stance good and grounded, even as she circled around to have more room for herself. She was trained, and was a real threat to Owen, he knew that.

“Are you going to say anything?” she asked. Owen knew it meant more than just ‘are you going to comment on my skill’, she was asking if he was going to tell anyone of what she was doing. 

“No.” he replied simply and honestly. “Why did you help Killian?” he asked. Claire’s scowl was driven in hard onto her brow, anger blazing in her eyes.

“An old friend may want him dead, but I know she still loves him.” Claire spoke quickly but Owen caught every word. He couldn’t quite process it until the last possible second. He breathed harshly and Claire realised her mistake just as fast.

“Emma is alive?” Owen asked and Claire shook her head.

“I’ve said enough.” Claire said, but Owen wasn’t letting her go that easily. He lunged forward, grabbing her wrist, twisting it so that the sword was now pinned behind her back and she was right in close to his chest. He towered over her now. 

“Maybe you haven’t said enough,” Owen breathed, and Claire’s breath visibly hitched. She was nervous. She let out a shaky breath before she continued on with her anger and disapproval. 

“Hands off, Grady, before you lose a finger,” Claire swapped the blade over to her other hand, quickly slapped the blade against Owen’s thigh. He bounced back and she threw his sword to the ground. Picking up her dress, Claire raced down the street, out of sight and always out of reach. 

 

*****

 

The old dusty chambers of the forgotten part of the royal library laid bare and untainted. A man came up with a lantern in hand and his fingers running over the spines of books delicately. “I thought you said you could do this for me, Miss Swan.” he said in a conniving voice. Cardinal Gold was an odd and very threatening man. He was small in height but could make up for it with his mind. 

Moving her hood from her head, Emma stepped into the light, the choker around her neck with the small swan medallion twinkled off the fires gleam. “I underestimated the musketeers. It won’t happen again.” she spoke lightly. Gold turned, his face angered beyond what she had seen before. He caught her arm, his hand tight around her skin, making sure it hurt. 

“You’ve been warned once, Miss Swan. This is the last time it will happen. If I am to have my power, you will get rid of the musketeers. Even if it kills you.” he said harshly, letting her go and shoving her back. Emma raised her chin before putting her hood back over her head.

“Trust me, I want them dead just as much as you do.” she snapped and moved back into the shadows, only the old books knowing of what was to come. 


	2. Hopeless Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a nobleman is killed before he can see the cardinal, the musketeers must find out what's going on. That's when Claire comes along and complicates things a little. Or she may just help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying this fic so far, I enjoy writing it a lot. Please let me know your thoughts, it would mean a lot. xx

Claire pulled herself away from Owen, the will to do so almost impossible. She picked up her skirt, rapidly making her way to her apartment. Weaving and curling her way through crowds, Claire made it up the steps and entered her home. Her heart was pounding, begging for more room against her ribs but there was more of a reason than the run. Claire took her hand to her stomach, trying to regain her breath, shutting her eyes tightly. 

“What has you all frazzled?” a sweet voice asked. Claire jumped and eyes flicking open to see a face that was almost forgotten. Lady Emma Swan. Five years since the day Emma was hung and revived. Emma smiled, her hands in front of her stomach before she gave a satisfied sigh and threw her arms around Claire. She was stunned for a moment, not hugging back into Emma’s embrace as old friends would do. Claire stammered back against the door, to which Emma’s brow creased. “Have I done something to offend?” Emma muttered and Claire swallowed hard. It took her a moment to find the words. 

“Emma, what are you doing here?” Claire said, not trying to seem polite. Emma scowled, raising her brow, not even a little bit surprised with Claire’s sharp tone. Claire noticed something that had not been on Emma the last time they saw one another; a ribbon to create a necklace was wrapped around her neck, masking a horrible scar that Claire had seen only the once. 

Emma wandered around Claire’s small apartment, merely a bedroom and a bench for a wash bowl. Her finger ran over the bench’s surface, picking up the dust and rubbing it between her index and thumb. “I have just been my patron -” 

“You mean Cardinal Gold?” Claire snapped and Emma chuckled. Emma pulled up her wrap onto her forearms. She was impressed with Claire for a moment, a look of delight and satisfaction. Claire once craved to see Emma’s face light up like that, but there was something sickening behind it that made Claire nervous. 

“You’ve become even sharper since the last time I saw you. Have you finally realised you can speak your mind?” Emma smirked. 

“I never spoke ill words to you, Emma. We were friends.” Claire reminded and Emma stopped. She turned to Claire, adjusting her wrap a little more and avoided looking directly at Claire.

“ _ Were _ ? We aren’t anymore?” she asked quietly but Claire didn’t respond. Emma cleared her throat, raising her chin and looking like nothing had phased her in her entire life. “I’m not going to lie to you, Claire. I need a friend I can rely on. Gold will discard of me whenever he wanted and I just need him to see I’m still worthy of his patronage.” Emma explained and Claire’s brow creased.  

“And you’re asking me to what? Help with with Gold’s plan? Or to make sure you don’t meet the end of a sword?” Claire asked and Emma shrugged.

“Both.”

Claire moved around the room, staying clear of the door because she knew she wouldn’t be having Emma for much longer. “I can save you from death, but I will not help Gold with his corruption of this city.” Something shifted between them suddenly, Emma came closer, unsheathing a dagger she had hidden on her hip. She pointed it at Claire with such conviction that Claire jumped slightly.

“I’ll be working for Gold, no matter what you say. Stop me and you’ll be dead.” Emma warned and with a quick movement, Claire grabbed onto Emma’s wrist, twisting it outwards and she dropped the dagger. Claire snatched it up quickly before it hit the floor.

“You forget who trained you.” Claire said straight back, warning her with the same conviction that Emma had just before. Claire continued to circle her friend until Emma’s back was against the door.

“Claire, I need your help. You and Clarke are the only ones who understand that this needs to happen.” Emma tried to protest, her hand already finding the doorknob. Claire was biting at the inside of her cheek, her heart racing and a heavy weight in her chest making her feel low. 

“Clarke is the queen and I’m not the same girl you left five years ago when you started your filthy work with that corrupt man.” Claire reminded, making sure her words had every bit of pain and anger behind them. Both of them, together, had their eyes welling up. They were fighting when it was clear that neither of them wanted to be. They wanted things to go back to the way they once were. 

“Claire -” Emma tried to say, but Claire shook her head, pointing the dagger a little closer to Emma’s throat. 

“Go, before I get the Musketeers here. I’m sure your husband will be shocked to see you’re still alive.” Claire snapped, the tear trickling down her face. Emma bit at her lip before she exited the door. Claire dropped the dagger down, letting out painful sobs that she had been holding it. A friend she lost had come back, her eyes pleading for just a little help and Claire felt guilty for not helping. She wanted to have Emma in her life again, but this version of her was tearing her heart apart. 

 

*****

 

Killian felt his boots get nudged, his hat fitted low for his midday rest to be taken seriously. His midday rest was technically supposed to be training with Bellamy, but Owen took it on everyday and Killian wasn’t bothered enough to teach the lad more of his own tricks. When Killian looked up, Kane, stood with his hands resting on his sword. Marcus Kane was the Musketeer Captain, a little older than that of Killian and Owen, but had been a musketeer far longer than either of them.

Kane tossed Killian a scroll, words scribbled on one side and Killian huffed. He let his hat fall down onto his nose again, reclining further into his sturdy chair. Owen and Bellamy were winding down their training, the obvious grunts from a beaten Bellamy and a wicked chuckle from Owen’s besting of the young lad. “What am I reading?” Killian said roughly. Kane knocked Killian’s feet straight off the table and removed his hat in the same angered fashion. 

“Are you still drunk?” Kane asked, leaning in and smelling Killian. Killian kicked at Kane’s shin and rolled his shoulder as he sat up straighter. 

“No, I’ll have you know I just smell like this sometimes.” Killian suddenly burped, an alcoholic taste rising up his throat. Killian pressed his knuckles to his mouth as he felt the horrible sensation subside.

“You  _ are _ drunk.” Kane huffed, rolling his eyes at Killian. He wasn’t, though, his drinking the night before had gotten out of hand. Standing up, Killian adjusted his hat and his hand rested upon his blade once more.

“I just didn’t want to read this. What is it?” Killian asked and Kane huffed.

“A task. You must deliver a nobleman's letter to the cardinal.” Kane sighed and Killian bit his tongue. 

“We still have to deliver messages to the Cardinal even though we hate him?” Killian asked. Owen and Bellamy started to walk over just as Killian was wrapping up with Kane.

“The king commanded it.” Kane replied, handing the task over to him. Killian chuckled, clicking his tongue. The boys were taking their time as they wandered over.

“Well, when you put it like that.” Killian muttered to himself. He looked up to the boys, gesturing them over to him. “Boys, we’ve got a job.” Killian called out and the boys rushed over, dressing themselves back into their leathers, adjusting the musketeer guard on their shoulders.

“Any women involved?” Owen asked, the sly smirk on his lips already. 

“Not unless you mean playing messenger, then yes, we’re doing exactly that.” Killian replied, handing Owen the scroll, who read it over fairly easily. 

“Do we all have to go?” Bellamy asked, taking the scroll from Owen’s hands and reading it just as quickly.

“No, but if I go deliver this to the cardinal by myself, I might punch the poor man and get tried for treason.” Killian shrugged and Bellamy gave a soft chuckle, tightening the strap on his guard and fixing it tightly around his bicep. 

“Not my problem.” Owen rubbed the back of his neck, finding his hat and placing it atop his head.

“I’ll say you convinced me to do it.” Killian replied back, almost threatening. And as Owen laughed, gripping tightly into Killian’s shoulder, they both smiled.

“Then, what are we waiting for?” Owen asked and Killian raised his brow. He whistled for the stable hands to fetch the horses, and they all made their way to the address. Once there, something felt off, just a little too silent for Killian to feel comfortable. Killian and the boys seemed to be on the same page, both Owen and Bellamy having their hands edging at the hilt of their blades, ready to unsheathe their swords.  

Walking carefully up the stairs, Killian managed to get his heavy pistol from his side, ready to aim it, knowing full well he couldn’t fire it at that point but the threat should still be heard. “Monsieur Bonacieux? Sir?” Bellamy called out. Killian pushed the barrel of the gun against a door slightly cracked open. On the floor, a body lay, a perfect line draw in deep on his neck. Killian sighed and clicking his tongue. 

“He’s gone.” Killian muttered, the man’s eyes wide open and unmoving. Kneeling down, Killian shut the man’s eyes and the boys began searching around for the letter, just in case. It wasn’t for another moment, Killian noticed the dragged blood pool near the body. “Someone took the damn letter,” Killian cursed to himself. Then, a heavy grunt and slip of tiles echoed on the rooftop. Killian raced over to the windowsill, looking up to the roof to see someone making their way up the side of the house. 

“Owen. Bellamy. Follow them. I’ll be on the street.” Killian called quickly, racing down the stairs once more and onto the street. Within moment, Killian saw the person fleeing with Owen and Bellamy in their wake. Killian raced ahead, keeping a watchful eye. Then, as he had suspected, at the end of the row of buildings, the man jumped down onto a ledge. A ledge Killian knew he could reach. Following, Killian kept silent, watching as they came down onto the street and Killian was on their tail. Tripping them up with a nearby plank of wood, the person fell with a pitiful squeak. 

The squeak caught Killian off guard, but not enough to stop him. They turned over, coughing a little as Killian placed a heavy foot on their chest. “Who might you be?” he asked, leaning down, his weight pressing into their chest some more before he wrenched the scarf from around the person’s face.

“Wait!” Owen called out as Killian looked down at the person. Claire Dearing, a women he knew to be his lost wife’s best friend. She stared at him, anger filling her eyes and Killian released his foot from her chest. “See, I was worried it was going to be her.” Owen said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You knew?” Killian asked and Owen sighed.

“That’s going to be a tough one to explain.” Owen bit onto his lip, taking his hat from his head and offering a hand to Claire. Killian watched as she huffed, took Owen hands, and dusted herself off. 

“Let’s get her out of here. We need to question her,”Killian ordered. Owen kept Claire’s hands behind her back as he got the chains together and shut them tightly around her wrists. Claire didn’t say a word through it all. “Did you know about this?” he asked over to Bellamy. He tilted his head, whistling over the horses and taking their reins.

“A little,” he said as he cleared his throat and walked ahead of Killian. Throwing his hands up into the air, he watched the three of them walk down the street. 

“It’s things like this that make me hate you both,” Killian shouted after them, both Bellamy and Owen groaning and dismissed Killian’s claim. Once back at the garrison, Kane was surprised to see them, including Claire being pushed ahead of them. She was still dawned in her oversized garments, making her seem bigger but they rattled far more than they should have. Claire walked up the steps followed by Owen, Bellamy and Killian. They took Kane’s office, setting her down and uncuffing. Bellamy had a gun pointed at Claire, and although he wasn’t the best shot, he was the one more likely to shoot compared to Owen and Killian. 

 

*~*~*

 

_ Killian had Owen by his side, nearly eight years ago then. They were sitting in the garrison, no task and training was finished. They were both getting dressed back into their leather when Killian heard a woman call his name. He and Owen both turned to see a shining Emma in a beautiful new dress with a red headed woman by her side. They talked amongst themselves as both Killian and Owen seemed to fawn. Killian had met the woman a few times before; Claire Dearing was her name. She was lovely and had a strong opinion that could never be battled.  _

_ “There is my beautiful wife,” Killian nudged Owen, both men smiling over to Emma, who waved. Claire had her hands together resting on her waist slightly.  _

_ “Who is that?” Owen said in a breathless voice. _

_ “Lady Claire,” Killian smiled. There was a shaky breath let out of Owen’s mouth, as though he had known her before. His face reading that of utter happiness told Killian that he did.  _

_ “I remember her, I just…” Owen muttered before he let his back fall against a nearby support beam. “Wow.”  _

_ Killian slapped his hand against Owen’s shoulder, shocking the unaware man. “You okay there, mate?” Killian smirked and Owen shook his hand off.  _

_ “Ask Claire if she’d consider seeing me tonight?” Owen said biting onto his lip and watching Claire like his life depended on it. Claire was looking back every so often, turning back to Emma and giggling amongst themselves.  _

_ “Look who’s a little smitten mess,” Killian nudged and Owen rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks going bright pink. _

_ “What can I say? I fall hard for beautiful women.” Owen shrugged, yet the look on his face was so unlike the cocky man Killian had fought and drunk with. There was something behind his eyes that bore his heart like never be.  _

_ “She’s different.” Killian whispered and Owen gave a soft nod, smiling over to Claire once more.  _

_ “Yeah, she always was,” Owen sighed blissfully. When Killian left with Emma, he saw Claire walking carefully over to Owen, not seeming to speak to each other, but she tucked her foot behind her ankle and they smiled at one another. There was no further contact from that day, as far as Killian knew.  _

 

*~*~*

 

Killian knew that Owen could never threatened Claire, the look in his eyes said what he couldn’t. Claire clicked her tongue against her teeth as she studied her nails. Killian cleared his throat and Claire perked up, sighing in the process of relaxing back into her chair once more. 

“Claire,” Killian greeted in a nod. Claire gave a sly smile.

“Long time, Killian,” she said back, an angered spirit she never had with him before. As he thought on her, he remember once when she was so sharp. It shocked the room when she had said it, her mischievous smile echoing in his memory. Killian pulled himself away, the fading image of Emma’s smile making him dwell and feel utterly defenceless against his guilt.

“What were you doing at the nobleman’s house? Where is his letter?” he asked quickly and Claire sighed, her legs crossing over; she was not feeling threatened. 

“I hear things now. People tell me things about murders being planned and corrupt plots about to take form. I just want to be there to stop them.” Claire explained

“Why would you want to do that?” Killian asked, Claire’s face erupting with fear and caution. She then looked at Owen and he shrugged. Claire sighed.

“Killian, I think you should sit down for this one, man.” Owen whispered.

“What?” Killian asked before shaking his head and looking back at Claire. She seemed a lot more nervous now, afraid of Killian for some reason. “Claire, tell me what you know.” Killian asked, his voice low and his hands shaking slightly. Something in him was warning him to stay away from this conversation because it wasn’t going to end well. He wasn’t going to be happy with how this conversation finished. 

“E….I -” Claire stuttered, her eyes avoiding Killian.

“Claire!” he snapped unexpectedly, to himself and to the others in the room. Claire didn’t jump, just her eyes finally meeting his. 

“Emma is alive.” she said plainly and Killian felt his legs give out. He stumbled back into the table, his hand running over his mouth. She had to be lying, this couldn’t be real. He got there just as the carriage moved and she dropped off. He watched her hang. His eyes were darting around the floor, piecing it all together but nothing was making sense. Claire’s voice was a muffled mess, when it all became clear in his ears. “She bribed some people and the hanging you saw was staged. They revived her moments after you saw her drop. She thinks you sentenced her to death.” 

“But I -” he finally managed to say before he turned his anger onto the woman that sat in front of him. “You’ve kept this from me all these years?” he asked, his voice just as low and brow narrowed to her. He needed answers. 

“I didn’t know if you’d take it well -” Claire started, almost unmoved by it all. 

“What does Emma have to do with  _ any _ of this?!” Killian blurted out and finally shocked Claire. She let in a sharp inhale and exhaled long, almost regretted what she hadn’t even said yet.

“Emma works for Gold.” Claire said through gritted teeth. Killian turned to the desk, letting himself breath, then, it was like a wall had broken; everything that he had been holding in, the pain and the suffer, it came crashing out. Killian slammed his hands down onto the desk, throwing things around before he almost charged at Claire’s seat, towering over her. 

“How is this just coming to my attention?” he asked calmly, but by the look on Claire’s face, he mustn’t have looked calm. 

“I went there today because I thought Emma might have something to do with it. When I got there, it was just a man running off with the letter and then when I started to search, I thought he was coming back so I went onto the roof. Turns out it was just you.” she explained. Rage and anger were taking hold and all he saw when he looked at Claire was Emma. He grabbed onto her arms, hoisting her up and she was taken back, eyes wide and frightened. B

“Get the hell out of here. Now! Get out!” he bellowed out and Claire shoved him off, kicking him directly into the stomach and winding him. Owen and Bellamy both stood and readied themselves. Killian held his stomach as he watched Claire become determined. 

“I won’t be intimidated by you Killian. I will find out who did this,” Claire yelled back, her hands bound and it was a moment where Killian felt intimidated by her for the first time since knowing her. He knew that Claire could and would hurt him far more than she already had.

“Don’t. You won’t be helping anyone.” Killian warned, Claire stepped up to him. He straightened up, trying to rise his chin a little in defence. Claire chuckled, as though she saw herself higher in his eyes.

“I’ll be helping you. You need me more than you know,” Claire swore. Moving to the door, Bellamy edged his way in front of it. Claire gave a cold stare in an impatient reply. “Move.” In a second, Bellamy looked her up and down and moved without a second word. They watched as Claire stormed down the steps of the garrison and out of the courtyard. She put her scarf back on around her face and became invisible in the middle of the crowd once more.

They began their investigation back at the man’s home, questioning his neighbours. The most common information was that he was ill and wished to sell his home and fortunate off to either a relative or a nobleman. Since the man had no immediate family to think of, there were some likely people he would turn to next. They began asking the servants, whom all knew they would not be getting the man’s fortune, only their last day’s pay and that would be all. When they asked the coachman, however, he said that there was a brother that no one really knew of. 

The brother was a bastard, born out of wedlock and an affair that the family did not speak of. He was much poorer than his brother, asking for an allowance each other to get him by. It wasn’t until recently that the man continued to come back more frequently, possibly learned about his brother’s illness. The coachman assumed that since Bonacieux was in business with the cardinal, his money would be going straight to him. A last will and testament was meant to be delivered to the cardinal that morning. And all the pieces fit together. 

It was then they encountered difficulties. No one remembered what he looked like other than the long scar running diagonally across his face; no one knew his name for sure. So, they decided to question anyone and everyone who had contact with Bonacieux, which proved to be an exhausting task. Whenever trying to question further, it turned into a mess amongst the people. Owen would ask a merchant if they had seen anything, to which Owen would find his pockets going empty with bribery. Bellamy had been hit in the side with a broom several times as he tried to question a woman and Killian was getting nowhere with a man could obviously talk but refused to say a word to him or any other musketeer. It felt draining getting nowhere fast, so they decided to head back to the garrison.

On the steps of the garrison, a man sat slumped over, a blade sticking into his chest. With the blade there, a note was stuck firmly in place. Kane stood at the bottom of the steps with a letter in his hand, a small smudge of blood on the corner. Inspecting the man, Owen knelt down, seeing him conscious and gave a sly smile back to Killian. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was Claire’s handy work,” Owen said tapping the blade that was in the man’s chest, making the poor man wince. 

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” The familiar call of Claire’s voice rang down from Kane’s office. They all looked up, watching her carefully grace the balcony before making her way down the steps and past the man. She smiled up at Owen as she passed him. 

“Claire, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Killian asked sternly. 

“Here’s the man. Here’s the letter.” she pointed respectively. 

“You...you went and found him. This is Bonacieux’s brother?” Killian asked, locking his hand into the man’s hair to see his face. And there it was, the large scar and the letter signed by Bonacieux himself. 

“Like I said. I hear things. I know things you don’t,” Claire shrugged. She sighed before pressing her hand softly into Killian’s cheek. “I need to talk to you, privately.” Killian nodded in response.

“Send this to the cardinal. It’s of the highest importance,” Killian asked of Kane, who had already whistled over a man to escort the letter to the palace. Kane took the man off, more likely taking him to the bastille. Claire and Killian began walking up the steps when she turned to see Bellamy and Owen following behind. She furrowed her brow, confusing Killian slightly. 

“Do you follow him everywhere?” Claire asked. Owen, being the sly and confident man he always is, move up a step, his body straight up against Claire’s. 

“Only most of the time. If I’m with a woman, then no.” he smirked. Claire raised her hand to his face slowly before she smacked it twice, hard enough to leave a red mark there instantly. Owen seemed unmoved, except for the forced smile he played. 

“So, you’re always with him then?” she asked and Owen chuckled. 

“You’d be surprised how many times I’m not with them.” he raised his brow and Killian rolled his eyes. Owen went past Claire, walking by Killian’s side to Kane’s office as they had done earlier in the day. 

“I’m surprised he can get that many women to sleep with him.” Claire whispered over to Bellamy. Killian looked back to see Bellamy smirk. 

“So are we.” Bellamy whispered back and Killian laughed as the other two burst into hysterics. 

“I don’t like you two talking to each other.” Owen warned and Claire smiled to Bellamy. 

They all stood inside Kane’s office, a very different feeling from the one of that morning. For one thing, Killian knew he wanted to be far drunker than what he felt like in the morning, but that was a different discussion. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Killian asked Claire calmly, and she gave a defeated look. 

“When I told you, you were different. You were angry and frustrated and not the man I remembered you being. If you tried to find her, she would have killed you instantly. You’re stronger now. A little bitter, but stronger.” Claire explained, a small smile of encouragement played on her lips. “Killian, she’s caught up in her revenge plot. We have to get her out of it before she goes too far.” Claire gave a small act of begging, but it was something that felt more like helping. No matter how much pain Killian was living with, Claire had the burden to carry Emma’s secret and the guilt of it all. Killian sighed, offering his hand out to Claire.

“Join us, Claire. You can be our fourth.” Killian offered and Claire blinked wildly, shocked by the proposal. 

“Killian, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Owen interrupted in a whisper, blocking Killian’s hand to Claire.

“Why not? Because she beat the hell out of you?” Killian asked and Owen’s face scrunched. 

“No, she’s a woman, she could get hurt,” Owen muttered as to not let Claire hear. Owen was shoved forward, Claire’s fist impacting with his shoulder. 

“I could show you many scars but not enough to make me weak. I don’t hurt easily.” Claire tilted her head, questioning Owen to further his argument. Owen huffed and stepped aside, resigning to the fact that this was going to happen with or without his approval. 

“Give her a uniform, I want to see her in something that isn’t going to weigh her down.” Killian ordered, and as Claire’s cheeks went red she bit her lip and smiled brightly. Claire grasped onto Killian’s hand firmly, shaking it and nodding in acceptance of the offer.


	3. A Call To Arms

Bellamy had rarely found himself wandering with his eyes, but Claire Dearing was a force to be reckoned with. She was in his room, changing from her old uniform into one of Bellamy’s. He didn’t argue, but he was disappointed, seeing as how he only had about two uniforms anyway. They sat outside, just waiting but he let his eyes wander. He leaned forward, peeking in through the window. It wasn’t clear, the glass misshapen and old, all Bellamy saw was a figure. She was slim with ivory skin and legs that seemed to go on forever. Then, he was startled when he felt the cold tip of a blade underneath his chin. 

“Watch your eyes kid,” he heard Owen’s voice, low with warning. Bellamy peered down to see Owen’s hat covering his eyes, avoiding any temptation as to watch what was happening.

“Do you want her or something?” Bellamy asked. Owen chuckled, untucking the blade and laying it on his lap. 

“Or something,” he said, tipping his hat further down his face. “if she catches you, she'll gouge out your eyes,” Owen warned. Bellamy shook his head and sat back down, turning away from the window. Killian sat across from the pair, his view perfectly peering inside, but he only looked down at Owen and Bellamy. There was something very noble about Killian sometimes, although, he did watch Killian flick his eyes up to the window when Owen wasn’t concerned with him.

“Personal experience?” Bellamy asked. Owen gripped onto his blade once more, pointing it at Bellamy once more. There was a sharp look in Owen’s eyes that scared Bellamy in a way that has never scared him before. 

“There's a history with Claire Dearing and I, one that has caused me a lot of pain. So drop it.” Owen warned before standing, sheathing his blade and making his way halfway down the stairs. 

“What's up with him?” Bellamy whispered to Killian. The older man sighed, leaning in and taking a glance over to Owen. 

“Claire has a lot to do with his past. He's never really gotten over it.” Killian shrugged.

“Does he have to take it out on us?” Bellamy knew he was scowling, a habit he had gotten into through his work with the musketeers.

“You would think it strange if he didn't take it out on us,” Killian smirked, an eyebrow raised in question. 

“You're not wrong,” Bellamy smiled before they both heard the door to Bellamy’s room creak open. Bellamy saw Owen spin around, his gloved hand running over his face in surprise. Bellamy turned to see Claire, fixing up the musketeer uniform. 

“Bellamy’s clothes fit you quite well.” Killian mentioned as Claire looked down at herself. She fit into it quite nicely, the brown contrasting with her vibrant hair. Bellamy heard footsteps coming closer to him, Owen pressing up to Bellamy’s side. 

“Had to tighten the straps a little bit, but it feels better,” Claire commented, fixing up the collar. The uniform was fitting her much like it fit Bellamy, but masked the fact that she was a woman, something that Bellamy picked up straight away. Aside from her face, it was hard to tell who was wearing the clothes she had on. “I need a scarf.” Claire said sharply.

Bellamy’s brow crinkled. “It doesn’t get cold -” 

Claire cleared her throat, stepping up in front of Bellamy and Owen. Bellamy straightened out of habit. Claire held herself like a captain; the authority and confidence all coursing through her stance and eyes. “I can’t show my face. As fierce and brilliant as I seem, Bellamy, no man is going to take me seriously in a fight and will try to overpower me rather than to actually fight.” she smiled and Owen shifted behind Bellamy.

“You’ve thought about this,” Owen huffed. Bellamy saw a confident smirk on his lips as Claire pushed a finger into his chest. 

“Yes. I am rather educated, Owen,” Claire tilted her head, pushing harder into Owen’s chest and flicking her finger up into his chin. Bellamy noticed the small bit into her lip before she looked down at her boots. Killian cleared his throat and rolled his eyes at the pair. 

“You will be known as Porthos,” Killian nodded to Claire, “to keep up appearances.” Claire smiled and nodded back. Killian took Claire to the side, away from Owen and Bellamy so they wouldn’t hear them talk. They discussed something for a short while, before Killian untied the dark scarf wrapped around one of his belt hoops. Bellamy watched closely as Killian took it from his belt and wrapped it around Claire’s neck, fixing it up and making her giggle slightly. He seemed to be flirting with her viciously and without restraint, and Owen noticed. His breathing became mean and his jaw clenched. 

“I’m going for a drink,” Owen huffed, marching off down the garrison stairs and off towards the tavern. Claire and Killian watched Owen walk off abruptly down the street. Killian separated from Claire, and she looked down on the garrison courtyard.

“So, I suppose we’re going to the tavern?” Killian shrugged. Claire sighed, looking back at Bellamy and Killian. 

“I’ll meet up with you guys later,” Claire smiled and Killian went to Bellamy’s side, placing his arm around his shoulder and guiding him down the stairs. Bellamy was kept underneath Killian’s arm, but Bellamy couldn’t help but look back, wonder about Claire as the sadness grew in her eyes. She had watched them go, but she couldn’t have looked sadder. 

Wandering to the tavern, they saw people they knew, and making their way down to see Owen on another bottle of ale. Three bottles were empty at his table already with two women at his side, kissing along his neck and hands running underneath his shirt. Killian and Bellamy gave a look to one another and sat down at a table nearby. Owen spotted them quickly.

“My friends! Why not sit with me tonight?” he erupted, the whole tavern knowing them, and not paying much mind to his antics. Killian ordered their usual round of ale and took their place.

“You have some more friends to entertain,” Killian remarked and Owen looked at the red headed woman to his side. He wrapped his arm around her backside, ushering her into his lap and Bellamy rolled his eyes.

“Right you are, brother!” Owen cheered, locking his lips with hers and Bellamy gave a heavy sigh, ignoring Owen for much of the night. Killian and Bellamy stayed somewhat silent, remarking on little things going on, but not a lot. It felt comfortable not to talk with Killian at times, a strong respect amongst them; Bellamy never wanted to break that. 

Then, the tavern went quiet. Bellamy and Killian both turned their attention to the door, noticing the beautiful woman now walking down the steps. Claire. She wore an elegant dress that was a pale blue, tight corset bringing her in and the tone complimented her ivory skin. She smiled over to Killian and Bellamy, the smile faulting as she noticed Owen. She took in a deep breath and walked over to the boys, sitting down next to Bellamy. 

“That’s a very lovely dress you have on, Claire,” Bellamy mentioned and Claire beamed.

“Thank you, Bellamy,” she said softly. 

Killian leaned over the table a little, giving Claire his ale and ordering over another for himself. Claire sipped at the ale, not scowling at the taste, so she had obviously had it before. “Claire, you are looking gorgeous as always, but I don’t know why you changed into your dress.” Killian nodded, reclining back into his seat.

“Most tavern owners don’t allow me inside if I wear my musketeer get up,” Claire shrugged, taking a larger sip than Bellamy, almost competing with him every time they picked up their cups. Bellamy chuckled as he noticed what she was doing. Claire giggled slightly, cleaning her chin.

“Well, I think you’re the most beautiful woman in this tavern,” Killian nodded over to Claire. She giggled a little harder. Eventually, they started to play around a little. Killian suggested that they sing around a bit, try to trick people, but they all knew the tavern’s people too well to do that. Claire then suggested a game she would play with the stable boys; flicking a coin into a cup to take a drink. If someone missed, then no one drinks, if one coin drops in, they could all drink. Claire demonstrated and got it in first try. When Bellamy tried, he realised the difficulty. Killian had two tries before the coin eventually flicked towards Owen. Claire stood up, going over to Owen and finding the coin on the floor. 

“Owen, drunk as always,” Claire rolled her eyes, both Bellamy and Killian laughing, sipping at their ale. Claire grabbed the coin and flicked it over to the table, just shy of the cup. They all groaned at the missed opportunity. Then, Owen caught Claire’s arm, shocking Bellamy and Killian. They shared a look and concern ran cold in Bellamy’s blood.

“What a beautiful woman,” Owen started to compliment, then he tugged Claire close, forcing her to stumble into him a little. “I hardly recognised you,” Owen gave a smirk that was half flirtatious and half drunkenness. Claire wrenched her arm away as the other went flying to his face, slapping him hard enough to make his chair rock back and forth. Claire picked up her skirt and scurried out of the tavern, swearing along the way. Bellamy quickly put down his drink, following suit and hearing Claire bellow out into the street another curse word damning Owen. 

“He’s had a few, give him a break,” Bellamy called out watching Claire make her way home. Claire stopped and marched back to Bellamy, shouting all in the process.

“No! I shouldn’t have to put up with that. If he wants me to like him, he needs to get his head out of his ass.” Claire spat back, her voice cracking as she shouted. She suddenly straightened, inhaling in shaken breaths. She was so fragile but Bellamy didn’t understand why. She licked at her top lip before nodding and going down the street. 

 

*~*~*

 

In the morning, Bellamy made his way down the garrison steps. Claire and Killian were sitting at a table, eating some damper and fruit. Bellamy fixed up his uniform, a darker shade compared to Claire’s. Bellamy sat down next to Claire, and she offered him some damper. He smiled and took a large bite. He indulged himself in his food for a moment as Owen stumbled in, arm slung over a woman’s shoulder. Claire glanced over before giving a hearty groan. They all kept eating, only glancing for moments. Owen kissed the woman and watching her go out of the garrison grounds. 

“Are we to train this morning? See what the new guy has?” Killian asked and Claire smiled over to Bellamy. She nudged her elbow against his side and twirled around in her seat, making her way into the courtyard. Bellamy followed suit, watching as Owen took Claire’s place and started eating. He twirled in his seat too, watching the training take place. Claire took off her jacket, and Bellamy followed along, noticing that the blouse underneath was the same as any males, meaning it showed off a lot of the chest when exposed. However, Claire had strapped down cloth over herself, not too tightly, but just enough to disguise herself. 

Claire unsheathed her blade, spinning the hilt in her hand as if it was an extension of herself. She held her stance, regal yet defiant of her gender role. Bellamy took his own stance before Claire quickly swatted his blade aside. Bellamy’s eyes went wide and he smiled over to Claire. She tilted her head, almost at her own praise. Bellamy challenged her, their blades fighting against each other with every lunge and flurry of their swords. Eventually, Claire unsheathed her dagger, shocking Bellamy as she cut into his shirt, ripping down from the end of the drawstrings. 

Bellamy jumped back, swatting her blade aside, but Claire was quick, a wrath blow swinging down and narrowly missing his face. Claire collapsed down to the mud, kicking Bellamy’s unstable feet from underneath him and she stood up just as fast. Tapping the blade at his adam’s apple, Bellamy gulped and Claire smirked. “Now, you’d be dead,” she shrugged. Tucking her dagger back onto her hip, Claire offered her hand to Bellamy and he took it gratefully.

“Who trained you?” Bellamy asked, Claire letting her hand rest on his cheek as she inspected him. He wasn’t sure what she was doing until she checked his chest, directly where her dagger passed through his shirt. She was worried about his safety, the slight touches of her hands told him that. 

“Her father, who trained me when I was a boy.” Owen remarked, very quickly understanding how he could not best Claire. Leopold Dearing was an ex-musketeer himself and had only ever taken two students in his life; Owen Grady and Marcus Kane. Bellamy had never thought it was true, that Monsieur Dearing was even a real person. Then, it dawned on Bellamy.

“You knew each other?” he asked and Owen scoffed.

“Barely. Claire wasn’t allowed near me when we were children,” Owen said, hitching his foot up onto the seat, leaning forward to press his weight into his knee. He seemed rather concentrated on Claire’s reaction to it all.

“That was for a reason too, Owen,” Claire snapped, pointing her blade at Owen. He smirked. “I was self taught until my father found out. Owen’s training was done and my father had to learn new tricks to win against me. Before he died, he never did best me.” Claire cleared her throat, flicking the blade back and forth, to test her momentum against the air. 

“Sorry to hear about your father. What was it? Three years ago now?” Owen replied, a more serious tone in the thick of his voice. 

“Just about.” Claire replied, the same seriousness echoing onto her voice. Owen cleared his throat, standing and taking out his blade. 

“You’ve gotten much better, I remember seeing you practise. I thought for sure your father taught you.” Owen mentioned, stepping up and removing his hat. Owen tossed it to Bellamy, but his main focus now was on Claire, watching her with intent and dedication. Her feet weren’t planted the way Bellamy knew Owen’s were. She was far more relaxed with a blade than he was. Claire moved as though she knew exactly how the blade felt, the sharp line of its edge, where as Owen used the blade to dictate a reaction, to gain the upper hand. Both skilled soldiers, however, there was something so fluid about Claire that it seemed more reliable to be on her side. 

“I would watch him train you. Had to be just as quick a learner as you were,” Claire smiled. Owen let his blade rest before his face, before letting it flow down to his side. Raising it up, he challenged Claire.

“Let’s see how fast you can get,” Owen said, readying himself. 

Claire swung first, taking Owen off guard with how quickly and silently she moved. She had a way of doing that; being unseen with a confidence that radiated what she had done. Bellamy smiled along with Killian as they watched her; a woman who was refined yet wild enough to him admire her the more for it. Slipping, feet battling the mud, they were dodging and sneaking past the other’s swing, like it was a dance that only they knew the moves of. Then, there was a sharp whistle that came over the garrison courtyard, stopping both soldiers. 

Drawing all their attention upwards, Kane stood on the balcony, tired and scowling down at the musketeers. “Hey! Don’t kill each other, I’ve got a job for all of you,” Kane ordered, heading back into his office. Claire sighed and Bellamy watched the devilish smirk take over Owen’s face. As Killian and Bellamy gathered their things, Owen let the flat of his blade smack against Claire’s backside. The back of her hand went clean across his face in a split second afterwards, a shocked look on her face as she realised what she had done. Owen stood stunned for a moment before he rested his weight onto one side of his hip. He turned back to Claire, a giant grin on his face and a raised eyebrow. 

“You’re quick,” Owen chuckled, rubbing his cheek. Claire giggled as she covered her mouth, a reaction she almost couldn’t hold back. 

“I’m sorry,” she said through each other her chuckle. Owen sheathed his blade, taking Claire to his side, embracing her quickly. Claire sheathed her own blade, walking with Owen to her things. He picked them up for her as they continued to the stairs. 

“I was teasing you, anyway. Come along, musketeer,” he said, planting a swift kiss to her forehead and tossing her things into her arms. Owen took himself up the stairs, leaving the rest of them in the wake of what he had done. Claire stood in shock for a moment, breathing in quick breaths before Killian touched her back. Claire cleared her throat, adjusting the jacket over her shoulders and fixing her pistol to her hip.

Following up the steps, Claire and Bellamy walked side by side, a tension now starting to arise. Claire was obviously feeling the pressure on her first official day as a musketeer. They all stood in a line, Claire on the outside followed by Bellamy, then Owen and Killian on the other end. Kane looked up to Claire, causing her to inhale sharply and straighten a little more. He sighed before sitting down. Kane gestured for her to step forward and did something that seemed a little odd. He offered his hand to her and she took it, shaking it gently. “Good to have you, Dearing,” Kane mumbled. 

“You’re okay with me, sir?” Claire muttered. She looked to Bellamy and he shrugged. He found it odd that she would look to him, but he found a comfort in her, so maybe she felt the same for him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said, paying even less attention to her now and rummaging through papers on his desk.

Claire cleared her throat. “Because I-” 

“Yes, you may be a woman, but I’ve heard you kicked his ass and that’s amazing in my book,” Kane looked briefly up to Owen before looking down on his papers again. “Christophe Dearing, was your father, yes? He was a great musketeer and I’m glad I studied under him.” 

“That means a lot, sir,” Claire smiled before getting back in line with the other three. Kane cleared his throat, leaning forward and handing off some parchment to Killian. Bellamy followed it, noticing the bold red wax seal weighing down the paper. The Cardinal’s seal.

“Killian explained the situation and I’ve spoken with the king. If you do a valiant job on this next mission, he’ll give you your commision,” Kane spoke. Claire nodded in turn but Bellamy was more concerned with Killian’s face. He clenched his jaw at one point before tucking the paper back up and handing it back to Kane.

“Thank you, Kane,” Claire responded. 

“Now, your job,” Kane cleared his throat, standing up. He seemed exhausted, worn out by this coming job. “There’s a man who has just arrived in town. He’s a trader and to be frank, a piece of work. He is dishonourable and has been known to be quite the liar. Lowery Cruthers is the man. Cardinal Gold wants him,” Kane said, Owen immediately stepping up to the desk in protest. 

“For what?” Owen said sternly. 

“I didn’t ask,” Kane sighed, waving Owen back. “You need to transport Cruthers to the Louvre in Paris and wait until he is safe before returning. Do I make myself clear?” Kane gave a warning stare before Killian cleared his throat. 

“We’ll get it done,” he said bluntly, looking at each other them and directing them out the door. Bellamy was stuck to Claire’s side, a permanent spot that he was glad to take. Owen pushed Killian’s shoulder, aggravating him into a hard scowl. 

“Really? We’re doing work for the Cardinal now?” Owen barked and Killian put his hand on his pistol. Owen backed away, and Bellamy could feel Claire’s hand bound in the back of his jacket. 

“It’s how it has to be. Always has been, and as long as that man is alive, it always will be,” Killian warned and Owen huffed, backing off from the man that they both looked to. Killian marched down the steps, Claire following closely and she put the scarf over her mouth, determination in her eyes as she walked beside Killian. 

They waited in the tavern, knowing full well that the man would go there. It wasn’t hard to spot him when he arrived, he drew all the attention to himself. He ordered drinks for the entire tavern, flashing his money around like it was nothing. His recklessness was making him a moving target. When Bellamy looked at Killian, he was concerned, as though he needed the man out of there as soon as possible. Bellamy kept parallel to Killian as they walked towards him. Killian reached him first, turning him around in his drunk spot. 

“Lowery Cruthers?” Killian asked as Bellamy reached his side. 

“As I live and breathe,” The man confidently smiled. Bellamy moved his cape to the side as Killian did the same, revealing the musketeer guard. Lowery’s eyes went wide and he stood abruptly. 

“You’re coming with us,” Killian gave a cocky smile before Lowery started to back away. He picked up a satchel, slinging it over his shoulder and pinning it to his side. 

“Sorry, I really do need to go,” Lowery became nervous, pushing his way through the crowd. “Apologies, musketeers, but I really have to be off,” Lowery stuttered a little before pushing chairs and tables in front of himself. Whatever this guy had done, he really didn’t want to be caught. Killian and Bellamy jumped over the items chasing outside. Claire and Owen watched the man go down the street, confused by what was going on. 

“What are you two standing around for? Go!” Killian ordered. Claire and Owen started ahead of Bellamy and Killian. They were all chasing down the street, Claire much faster than what they had seen before without the heavy clothes weighing her down.

“Keep up old man!” Owen called out to Killian, the ever present smile pinned to his lips. Killian chuckled in between his chased breaths. 

“We’re the same age, you bloody bastard!” Killian shouted and Claire gave a harsh giggle through her scarf.

“Oh, come on, Killian! I’m even faster than you!” Claire shouted back, turning back around to see Lowery skid down a side street, Claire chased ahead pulling herself down the street and pushing ahead of Owen a little. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s trying to taunt you.” Bellamy smirked towards Killian. 

“Oh, come on, Bell. You really want me to beat you up again?” she teased and Bellamy bit at his lip.

“You’re gonna get it, Porthos, I swear on France!” he barked, sprinting faster, still only getting in line with Owen. Then, Claire picked up a wooden bucket along the way, stopping briefly before flinging it over the distance between them and Lowery. It hit him square in the back and took him off balance. He toppled to the floor before Claire sprinted and pressed her foot in between his shoulder blades. 

Bellamy caught up, laying his hand on Claire’s shoulder as they were all panting and exhausted. She grunted, throwing her head back before she looked over to Bellamy and chuckled. They wrenched Lowery to his feet, Owen and Killian binding his hands and tugging him to the garrison. 

“Did anyone bring food? I’m starving,” Claire shrugged and adjusted her cape on her shoulder. Lowery suddenly swung around, looking directly at Claire. 

“Wait, you’re a woman?” he asked. “I would have been more polite if I had known.” he smirked. Claire took down her scarf, stepping forward and laying a hand on his his shoulder. Then, her hand squeezed and Lowery was buckling down on his knees.

“You know now, so keep your mouth shut and I promise I won’t stab you when you sleep,” she smiled, patting his face and moving ahead of the group. 

“I know she’s threatening me, but she looks so good whilst she’s doing it,” Lowery said as he rose to his feet. Owen shoved him forward to keep walking. 

“Tell me about it,” Owen muttered. 

“Food! Wine! Food and Wine! God I could use some wine.” Claire mumbled towards the end of her shouts. Bellamy smirked at that. When they made it back to the garrison, they had a carriage waiting for them, two horses for Killian and Owen, Claire would take care of Lowery and Bellamy would lead the carriage on it’s path.

They rode for most of the night, everyone tired and only Lowery slept. they journeyed slow but didn’t mind the brisk night air as they travelled. When the sun was rising however, Owen turned around, whispering something to Killian before heading back from where they came. Bellamy was nervous when that happened, a chill running down his spine that he couldn’t quite describe. When Owen rode back, he said something that meant a fight.

“We’re being followed,” he said, and Bellamy whispered it back to Claire. She hit Lowery for that, cursing him silently as to how much of a fool he was. Lowery had woken suddenly, frightened more than ever and start cursing Claire in the same way, but she fought back and he became a scared mess once more.

“I have a place we can stay,” Killian said, charging ahead and the carriage lurched, driving forward and away from the people following. They eventually made it, a large estate that was run down and tired. It hadn’t been lived in for quite some time, obvious by the shattered windows and broken frames. Bellamy heard a scurrying sound from the back of the carriage, and when he went around, he saw Lowery get kicked out of the back. Claire climbed out, picking Lowery up along the way. 

“I told you not to fight me, for the love of -” she started before finally looking at the house. Claire’s attention went to Killian, concern and shock taking over her. “Killian, are you sure you want to stay here?” 

Killian sighed, marching to the front door. “We have no choice,” he said opening the door easily and walking inside. Bellamy watched an uncomfortable Claire and Owen look at each other. They both sighed before following in tow and Bellamy after them with Lowery still being led up rope. 

Bellamy walked in and immediately caught sight of the portraits on the walls. Clear as day, one of Killian, younger and more refined than what he looked now, but there was one with the portrait is torn. Owen took Lowery into the next room where Claire was putting on a fire. Instead of joining them, Bellamy went to the portrait, flicking up the torn section. A beautiful woman with golden hair and an elegant smile. Bellamy let it fall again before meeting with the others.

They set up, eating and drinking as the afternoon was walking in slowly. Claire was staying close to the fire, shooting glares at Lowery as he was trying to sneak closer to the doors. Eventually Lowery stopped trying and resigned to his spot in the living room. Bellamy couldn’t help but notice the constant stare from Lowery. 

“Why are you staring?” Bellamy eventually asked. 

Lowery cleared his throat. “Were you once a slave? Your skin isn’t like the others, and I was wondering if -”

“I’m not a slave. To you or to anymore else.” Bellamy interrupted, his hands tightening. It was an issue he was trying to grow out of, because he knew he wasn’t like the frenchmen around him, he didn’t have their skin or their features. 

“Well, you’re definitely not from Africa. But you were most definitely not born in France.” Lowery mentioned, and Bellamy cleared his throat roughly, trying not to have an outburst at this man. 

“I was,” Bellamy snapped back and he heard the shifting of floorboards, someone walking towards them. 

“Then your mother was...” 

“Filipino,” Bellamy replied quickly.

Lowery pouted in surprise. “So, a slave mother -” 

That’s when Bellamy finally snapped. Bellamy took hold of Lowery’s jacket, shaking him violently. “We weren’t slaves! My sister and I were born here. Raised here. I love the skin that my mother gave me, but I will not let my family be called slaves because of your narrow view of the world,” Bellamy bellowed out.

“Bell, hey!” Claire interjected, stepping in between Bellamy and Lowery. He felt like his head was a blazing hot inferno, only red vision flaring over his eyes. Then, it faded, so beautifully with just the touch of Claire’s voice. “Look at me,” she asked and he complied. He looked into her eyes, the small pleased from the crystal blue irises. “You’re fine. You’re a frenchman and a musketeer. We don’t look at the colour of your skin for who you are. You’re Bellamy Blake. The bravest of the musketeer idiots.” Her hand was lying on his cheek, a smile that made him weak was placed firmly on her lips. Then, she turned to Lowery, disgust in her sigh. “As for you, watch your damn mouth or I won’t be afraid to cut out your tongue,” she warned. 

“Why must you hurt me so?” he asked and Claire swiftly took out her dagger and pressed it underneath his chin. “Okay, fine,” he said, swallowing harshly. Claire took the blade away, yet Lowery kept talking. “I’m a trader in many things. Not slaves, of course. I don’t trade in slaves. I have never done so, I was merely commenting that you don’t seem like a frenchman.” 

“Tongue,” Claire warned him again, smirking at Bellamy.

“Got it. Sorry,” Lowery eventually said and Claire took Bellamy under her arm, tugging him into an embrace that last no more than two seconds.

They took their sleep peacefully. Lowery was tied and restrained to a chair, just a little out of reach and in view whenever they woke up; he hadn’t tried to move, and Bellamy suspected that he was too terrified of Claire to try anything anymore. When the sun rose, there was immediate gunfire from outside, shattering unbroken windows. Bellamy saw Claire put on her scarf as he was just waking. She slid across the floor, handing Bellamy his sword and gun before she rose and fired out of the window, hitting someone in the process, obvious by the harsh howl of pain.

“Protect the idiot!” Claire ordered, Owen’s body getting in between Lowery and the line of fire. Killian went to the window, ducking down before firing as well. 

“Is this a business venture gone wrong?” Killian shouted and Lowery shrugged before nodding. Claire huffed, dragging Bellamy to his feet and they raced outside. Owen stayed inside, protecting Lowery and firing shots into the ambush. Claire and Killian went out swinging, their aims true and would land each blow no matter what it was thought. Claire’s speed gave her an advantage whereas Killian was swift with each movement, making each one count. Bellamy came in, clinging to the idea that he stood a chance with the amount of action roaming around. 

The ambush was still hot, musket balls flying and blades slicing for blood. Bellamy noticed a burly looking man marching up, the final onslaught coming for them. Claire was distracted, cutting down one of their members and Killian finishing off the last of their own. They were creeping up on Claire and Bellamy charged forward, watching as the man readied to throw the axe. “Get down!” he hollered to Claire, jumping in front of the axe and feeling it pierce into his back. Before he knew it, he was face down in the dirt, watching as the man was shot in the chest and fell beside him. 

“Bellamy!” he heard Claire shout. She raced to his side, holding his face in her hands. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” she asked and he winced, the axe striking him in the shoulder. It didn’t feel deep, he could still move his arm, it was just irritating and painful. 

“Yes, I do, now that I’ve had an axe in my back,” he winced again before screaming out in agony. 

“Get him inside before I kill the bastard,” she ordered Killian, rushing ahead and clearing their path. He watched as she was frantically moving. She wrenched the scarf from her face, going through their things before she got out their medical equipment. Owen helped Bellamy onto the table, laying him down flat. Claire handed Bellamy her scarf and indicated to putting it into his mouth. He gave a faint nod. “Okay, do it quick cause he’ll pass out if you do it slow,” she told Owen. His hand went onto the handle and Bellamy groaned. 

“You know what you’re doing right?” Bellamy asked Claire. She bit her lip.

“Okay,” she squeaked before she gave a nod to Owen. He wrenched the axe out of Bellamy’s back. Bellamy screamed in agony, the pain overwhelming and torture. He pinned his hands into the table, letting his nails dig in as he was feeling the entirety of his injury. 

“Jesus!” Bellamy bit at his lip. Claire patted his hair back, grabbing some of the alcohol. 

“Sorry, honey,” she apologised. Then, there was a loud thud. They all turned around to see what it was. Lowery had fainted. They all sighed before stripping him quickly out his jacket and shirt. Claire poured the alcohol over Bellamy’s back without a warning. He bit into the scarf now and screamed until his lungs burned. 

Claire worked for a little while, giving Bellamy all the wine they had to have him in less pain as possible. She was stitching him up, the thread was the main thing he kept feeling, the pull through his skin before it tightened and the sensation of the thread going through him again. Claire doused Bellamy’s back in wine last time before finally sitting him upright. The wine was quickly rushing to his head.

“I never got to thank you for what you did,” Claire said, her hand delicately resting on his shoulder.

“It was nothing,” Bellamy chuckled with a soft shrug.

“If you weren’t so beautifully young, Bellamy, I’d marry you.” Claire smiled before kissing Bellamy’s cheek. He knew he was sweaty and probably had dirt imprinted into his skin, but Claire didn’t mind and Bellamy smiled back.

“What about me?” Owen asked as he went to Claire’s side. She leaned into him a little.

“Owen, I would rather marry a goat than marry you.” she said, fluttering her eyelashes and looking back at her handy work on Bellamy’s back.

“Well, that’s just hurtful.” Owen muttered. Bellamy watched as Claire hit Owen in the chest with Bellamy’s shirt and jacket. 

“I’ll watch over Lowery as he sleeps. I think the man is terrified of me,” Claire smiled as she walked to the other room, dismissing Killian so he could be with the other boys. They all sat around, drinking and eating some of their remaining food. 

“Whatever happened between you two?” Bellamy asked Owen. Owen lifted up his hat before looking at Bellamy. Taking the hat off completely now, he played with the feathers, a blissful smile of a memory was echoing onto his lips.

“I was hopelessly...taken with her ever since we were children. When we were older, I asked her if she wanted to stop for a drink,” Owen began describing before scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know what I said or what I had done, but she completely tore me down. She called me an idiot and a fool for thinking she’d ever want someone like me. We don’t speak and she’s hated me for years. I suppose it might have something to do with not going to her father’s funeral too.” Owen sighed, a hollowed out heart and a desperate yet fleeting memory of what he could have had. 

“You are a fool, but I doubt she didn’t want to see you because of that,” Killian spoke gingerly and Owen tilted his head. 

“Well, if you figure it out, let me know.” Owen got up, walking lazily around the room.

“But how do you feel about her now?” Bellamy asked. Owen looked back at him before shrugging.

“I like teasing her, that’s all.” Owen took his spot on the floor once again, sleeping there in a matter of minutes. Bellamy and Killian soon took to sleep.

It only took them a few hours the next day to get to the louvre. Claire was roped to Lowery, but slept the entire way there. Lowery didn’t dare tug or move away from Claire. They kept up a hard ride, trying to get the mission over and done with. When there, they all escorted Lowery up to the cardinal’s office, smirking and leaving him to mess up somehow. Pinned at Lowery’s side still, was that satchel, they didn’t dare touch. Bellamy became curious of it when Lowery returned to them without it.

“When will we see your execution?” Claire asked, making Owen chuckle just a little, tipping his hat.

“The cardinal and I are actually in business together.” Lowery beamed, Owen and Killian groaning at his words. They started to leave as Claire and Bellamy stayed. 

“So those plans…” Claire groaned.

“Well, I’ve been trading for some time now and the cardinal has always liked the idea of gaining money whatever way he can,” Lowery explained. “So, he’s investing in my tobacco plantation idea,” he smiled innocently at the two.

“Will slaves be working for you?” Bellamy asked. 

“Well, it  _ is _ a plantation,” Lowery tried to smile, but there was a look of fear in his eyes as Claire came a little too close to him. Her arm slung around his shoulder, holding him closely. 

“I can honestly say, I’m glad this is the last time we will see each other, Lowery,” she gave an obviously fake smile but Lowery smiled back.

“The feeling is somewhat mutual, mademoiselle,” he chuckled before Claire drove her fist into his stomach. He toppled over and Claire sighed.

“Goodbye, Lowery,” she said cheerfully before going to Bellamy’s side.

“I think I love you, Claire,” Bellamy announced and Claire bit her lip before her lips turned up into a giant smile. 

“Oh, baby Bell, of course you do,” she giggled. They began walking a little further before Kane stood with his cape on and full military dress on. 

“Come along, Porthos, we have something to do,” he raised his eyebrows. Claire jumped a little before sneaking a quick kiss onto Bellamy’s cheek.

“See you guys back at the garrison,” Claire whispered, hitching up her scarf and stealing Kane’s hat to cover up most of her vibrant hair. Bellamy watched as she walked regally next to Kane and were stood in front of the King and Queen. It was his first glimpse at the queen, as he had never met her before. He swallowed hard before drawing his attention away from the beautiful woman and navigating out of the louvre. 

 

*****

 

They were all waiting, a moment of excitement and anticipation. Kane walked in first, tucking his hat underneath his arm before they saw Claire. She took down her scarf but everyone focused on her shoulder, now dawned in the dark hardened leather of a musketeer guard. They all cheered.

“And look who’s come back with a commission and everything,” Killian announced.

“Did he ask you to take off the scarf?” Bellamy chimed in soon after.

“No, Kane said I have a horrible disfigurement on my mouth that would make the king cringe,” Claire shrugged.

“Is it your mouth itself?” Owen asked before Claire drove her elbow into his side.

“Shut up, Grady,” she silenced him, but there was no denying that she had a tight grin on her face. 

“To the tavern! To celebrate!” Owen tried to shout, but the wind was out of him far more than he probably anticipated. Claire hitched up her scarf, taking hold of Owen’s hand and guiding him to the tavern. They all walked suit, walking in their formation to the old tavern down the street. 

They drank for some of the afternoon and night, constantly cheering for Porthos and his wondrous accomplishments of the mission. But as the night was drawing longer, Bellamy growing tired and a little more in pain, they were all separating. Claire stayed at Killian’s side, not talking but drinking silently. It wasn’t until Owen was kissing a woman that made Claire shift. Owen had the woman up against a wall, her hands on his face and his hands tightly clinging to the woman’s bodice. 

Killian watched as Claire’s brow crinkled and she finally got up. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he did see Owen notice her absence. Killian got up slowly, guiding his way out of the tavern, small sobs echoing close by. Finding his way to the submissive cries, he found Claire, scarf down and tears cascading down her face. Killian looked back at the tavern, then to Claire again.

“Oh,” Killian muttered. He was realising the most obvious thing about Claire in the moment, something that he should have seen but she carefully avoided. Claire cleaned her face and curled her arms around herself, a safety she could only find within her own embrace.

“Yeah. Silly huh?” Claire sniffed. Killian put his arm around Claire’s shoulder, bringing her into him and kissing her head. She let herself go, curling herself into his chest briefly. 

“You know he doesn’t deserve you, right?” Killian whispered and Claire gave a full blown laugh. She tugging a little tighter in her arm before they started walking down the street.

“Tell me about it.” Claire chuckled. Killian scoffed lightly before tucking her under his arm again and walking down the street. It was only them, a moment captured of relief and longing for those they didn’t have the courage to have. 

 

*****

  
Owen had a woman tucked underneath his arm, and he regretted so as he had forgotten her name. He looked down the street, one side bare, but the other had Killian and Claire. Killian had her underneath his arm, lips close to her ear and the small giggle she made had Owen’s heart aching. She suddenly leaned up to Killian, whispering in his ear before kissing his cheek. He chuckled lightly and Owen forced himself to look away. He had to, or else he would break for good. 


End file.
